


Mother of Pearl

by Arsenic



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Class Differences, Happy Ending, Jewelry, Light Angst, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Lazar's mother gave him a gift when he went off to make something of himself.
Relationships: Lazar/Pallas (Captive Prince)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 61





	Mother of Pearl

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Elegance, a CaPri zine for charity.
> 
> If I remember correctly, this fic is unbeta'ed.

Lazar’s mother had aspired to being a pet. Of course she had—every person who “played escort at night” in Vere did. Lazar knew she’d been part of a household at one point. Landed gentry, if the whispers of the others in the bordello where he’d grown up was to be believed. It was an unspoken truth that pets capable of becoming pregnant were an at-risk group from young noblemen, men of the merchant class who preferred women but couldn’t take a contract out on one, given the social taboo. 

His mom had never said anything, never made him feel anything but loved, but he knew he was the product of violence, of a moment that took every possible good option away from his mother. His birth was the reason she could never again try for something better than being available by the hour, rather than a month, six months, a year.

When he’d joined the guard at his first possible opportunity, she’d packed his bag. He didn’t have much, but it didn’t matter. The guard would provide him with uniforms, meals, weaponry. Most importantly, it would teach him to protect himself.

In the bag, she packed a smaller pouch, showing him something he’d never seen before. It was body-chain jewelry, but made entirely of pearls, one loop around the neck, another for the hips, with six strands that would drape down the back between them.

“Mom,” he’d said, stunned. He couldn’t have imagined her owning such a thing. It had to be worth a year’s keep.

She’d folded his hands over the pouch. “This was the last thing given to me with respect for who I was, who I could be. I promised I would only use it in dire emergency, and otherwise, I would keep it for you.” She frowned. “Maybe…maybe I should have found a way to buy our way out of this life with it. Before—” Shaking her head, she went up on her toes to kiss his forehead. “I love you.”

He’d swallowed. “You’ll use the money I send to get out of this life.”

“’Zar—”

“Promise, or I won’t take it.”

She tilted her head, sizing him up, looking so proud it was hard for him to hold her gaze. “All right, my little man. I will.”

* * *

At first, Pallas was just a bit of fun, the way most men in Lazar’s life had been. He’d learned the difference between enjoyment and power, sensuality and threat. And he’d learned how to wield the first two as their own type of weapons. Lazar had pursued Pallas for the reason he pursued most of the men he bedded: a combination of sheer physical desire, and the bone-deep awareness that he was leaving his mark on someone just a little (or a lot) above his station.

Interestingly, the problem was not that Pallas wasn’t aware of this fact. If anything, Lazar thought Pallas was probably hyper-aware, that he’d let Lazar have his way because Lazar was exotic in a way, and something Pallas could remember when he was properly married off to a Akielon noblewoman with land and a dowry.

The problem was that somewhere along the line, Pallas changed his mind about the boundaries of their relationship, and Lazar was nowhere near strong or smart enough to be the one to send him away. It wasn’t just the sex, although, admittedly, it was better than almost anything Lazar had known in a fairly storied career of fucking whom he wanted, when he wanted.

It wasn’t even the way Pallas laughed with his whole body, making it hard to feel unhappy around him, or that he could go toe-to-toe with Lazar sparring, or that they both enjoyed the lowbrow theater that came with traveling troupes. Really, it was that Pallas was one of the kindest people Lazar had ever met.

Nothing about that was obvious. Pallas did a good job of hiding behind his breeding and the training he’d received as an Akielon soldier. But it came out, as all truths eventually did.

The day Lazar knew he was absolutely in the worst trouble of his life was the day Pallas agreed to take on the project of helping a way to reintegrate Akielon slaves into society without just throwing them back into the desperation that had driven them to submit to service in the first place. He did what he did best in most situations and ignored his incipient panic.

It worked fantastically until Pallas said, “My family is coming to Ios for the Exalted’s coronation. I want you to meet them.”

Kindness was the most deadly trait of them all.

* * *

It took two days after that for Pallas to plant himself bodily atop Lazar after a particularly energetic bout of sex and say, “You’ve been quiet.”  
Lazar raised an eyebrow. If anything, he’d been a terror these past two days. His best form of defense had always been offense. In this case, to talk about anything and everything that was not their relationship so that Pallas couldn’t get a work in edgewise. He’d been conned into momentary silence by way of Pallas’ phenomenal blowjob skills and he was already regretting it. 

Pallas raised an eyebrow right back. “If you don’t want to meet my family, you don’t have to. I can understand if you’re saving that for some nice Veretian girl—”

Lazar laughed, he couldn’t help it. Pallas said, “Not that, then.”

“Not that,” Lazar agreed.

“Is it… Am I the issue?”

Lazar rolled Pallas off of him and sat up, rubbing his face. “You grew up playing with the children of the local kyros.”

“They were my cousins,” Pallas said quietly.

“I grew up fending off the advances of men who came to pay for a night with a woman and sometimes thought a boy would be just as fun, if not more.”

“You think that matters to me.” The statement was flat, but it was a question, tinged with hurt.

“I think it might well matter to your parents.”

“Good thing I haven’t required their approbation of my partners in quite some time.”

“Pallas—”

“Stand with me at the coronation.”

Helplessly, Lazar nodded.

* * *

Lazar wore the full regalia of the Prince’s—soon to be King’s—Guard to the Akielon coronation. He thought it might have been this false impression of status that granted him the wary respect with which Pallas’ family treated him. Or perhaps it was simply how uncomplicatedly happy Pallas seemed when introducing him. Either concept was a little too much for Lazar, so he chose not to think about it, just accept it and be pleased by it.

Later, when he had Pallas to himself, he kept the uniform on while undressing him. It was easy, of course, even the most formal of Akielon garb was scant. Lazar said, “I—There’s something I wish to give to you.”

Pallas snickered and Lazar laughed. “Other than that.”

He walked to the nightstand where he’d placed the pouch he kept the piece in, and brought it over, murmuring, “My mother sent this with me. I’m relatively certain she meant for me to sell it for necessaries, but I—” Lazar shook his head.

Pallas watched with eyes wide, silent as Lazar worked the ropes of beads around his neck and hips. It was tighter on him than it had ever been on Lazar’s mother, more of a complement to his muscles than an ornament to his sleekness. 

“Lazar,” Pallas whispered.

“Our kings will wear each other’s cuffs. I thought, perhaps, we could wear each other’s chains.” He didn’t look anywhere but at the pearls clinging to the curve of Pallas’ neck. He couldn’t.

“Yes,” Pallas said.

Lazar blinked at that, and Pallas took advantage of the moment of shock to swoop in, kiss Lazar. He repeated, “Yes. We will find yours before your return to Vere.”

Lazar smirked, “I know where I belong?”

Pallas brought Lazar’s hand to where the pearls were warm against his neck. “So you know to whom you belong.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback (but in no way expects or feels entitled to it!!) including:
> 
> Short comments  
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> Please note that criticism, constructive or otherwise, is not listed as a type of fb that is welcome, because it is not. I write and share these stories for free and as a hobby. You are entitled to not like this story, but if you feel the need to tell me that, or why, it will be immediately deleted and forgotten.  
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> 
> I can be found on tumblr @arsenicjade.


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